Lily Evans (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lilium_evansiae) wrote2011-04-13 10:16 pm
lilium_evansiae) wrote2011-04-13 10:16 pm
Entry tags:
Evans Home, August 1976
It's a solidly good production -- simple sets, straightforward production, nothing terribly innovative (but also nothing innovative for the sake of being innovative), an amazing Oberon balancing a slightly weak Bottom.
Adrian, as is his habit, keeps up something that is part review, part commentary, and part classroom lecture on the way home. Lily and Geraldine have both heard most of what he has to say about A Midsummer Night's Dream before, but it's new for Albus. And maybe it's the new audience, but Adrian seems even more animated than Lily thinks he usually is, and by the time they're back home, Albus and Adrian are deep in conversation and promptly vanish into the back room that essentially serves as Adrian's study.
Lily looks in on them three times, over the next couple hours. An increasing number of books seems to have been pulled from the shelves all around the room each time. Lily's not completely certain either of them even noticed her in the doorway.
"I do hope your father isn't boring that young man," Geraldine says, as Lily helps her get dinner together. It hasn't quite been discussed, but it seems to have been assumed that Albus will stay for dinner. (And at this rate, Albus may wind up having to sleep on the disreputable-looking but very comfortable couch in Adrian's study, because it's going to get way too late to pretend he's off to catch a train.)
"I don't think he's bored at all, really," Lily says. "And Dad's enjoying himself, so we'll let them talk. At least until dinner's ready."
"And possibly all through dinner, too," says her mother, with a slightly wry twist to her tone that would sound not unfamiliar to almost anyone who has talked to her younger daughter.
Geraldine is, of course, right. The conversation stays quite literary all through dinner and pudding, and Albus will have to pretend to contact relatives to tell them that he'll be staying with the Evanses tonight, because there's no way he'd start a train trip at this hour. Adrian might have gone right on talking, too, except that Geraldine insists that he help with the washing up. "That young man did not come to visit you, darling," Geraldine tells him, as Lily and Albus leave the kitchen. (Even though Albus kind of did.)
"I'm going to get us some tea," Lily says, "but if you go back in there, we'll never get away. Up the stairs, last door on the right, and I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
Lily vanishes back into the kitchen, leaving Albus on his own in his great-grandparents' house.
Adrian, as is his habit, keeps up something that is part review, part commentary, and part classroom lecture on the way home. Lily and Geraldine have both heard most of what he has to say about A Midsummer Night's Dream before, but it's new for Albus. And maybe it's the new audience, but Adrian seems even more animated than Lily thinks he usually is, and by the time they're back home, Albus and Adrian are deep in conversation and promptly vanish into the back room that essentially serves as Adrian's study.
Lily looks in on them three times, over the next couple hours. An increasing number of books seems to have been pulled from the shelves all around the room each time. Lily's not completely certain either of them even noticed her in the doorway.
"I do hope your father isn't boring that young man," Geraldine says, as Lily helps her get dinner together. It hasn't quite been discussed, but it seems to have been assumed that Albus will stay for dinner. (And at this rate, Albus may wind up having to sleep on the disreputable-looking but very comfortable couch in Adrian's study, because it's going to get way too late to pretend he's off to catch a train.)
"I don't think he's bored at all, really," Lily says. "And Dad's enjoying himself, so we'll let them talk. At least until dinner's ready."
"And possibly all through dinner, too," says her mother, with a slightly wry twist to her tone that would sound not unfamiliar to almost anyone who has talked to her younger daughter.
Geraldine is, of course, right. The conversation stays quite literary all through dinner and pudding, and Albus will have to pretend to contact relatives to tell them that he'll be staying with the Evanses tonight, because there's no way he'd start a train trip at this hour. Adrian might have gone right on talking, too, except that Geraldine insists that he help with the washing up. "That young man did not come to visit you, darling," Geraldine tells him, as Lily and Albus leave the kitchen. (Even though Albus kind of did.)
"I'm going to get us some tea," Lily says, "but if you go back in there, we'll never get away. Up the stairs, last door on the right, and I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
Lily vanishes back into the kitchen, leaving Albus on his own in his great-grandparents' house.
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"It's like this. There are things that I know I'm going to do. But I haven't decided to do them yet. Like, say, marry James Potter.
"Or even go out with him.
"So ... I think I'd rather tell my parents things like that when I've made a decision, rather than when I've learned that I'm going to."
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He looks apologetic.
"Yeah - of course," Albus agrees, nodding.
It hadn't even occurred to him that she would have to decide upon going out with and marrying James Potter, because it'd already happened in order for him to exist.
Time is weird.
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Lily shrugs. "I'm sure it'll all get worked out."
Somehow.
She nods to something behind him on her desk.
"I think Ben wants your attention."
The skeleton is carefully tapping one tiny bony finger against the part of Albus' sleeve he can reach.
(Lily kind of doubts Albus can even feel it.)
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And then when he does, Albus gives a quite rightly embarrassing yelp of surprise.
"Agh!"
When you're not expecting magical moving objects in a perfectly Muggle room, in a perfectly Muggle world, you'd be jumpy too.
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He also loses his hat.
Lily does not laugh.
Much.
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That looks like it could've hurt. Though if you're made of magic and a skeleton with no nerves anyway, it can't hurt all too much, can it.
Still, Albus reaches for Mr Edgington-Smith's little hat and passes it back to him once he's righted himself to his feet.
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"Albus, this Mr. Benedict Oliver Nathaniel Edgington-Smith, who used to be a broken teacup.
"And Ben, this Albus, who either is or will be my grandson, depending on your temporal point of view."
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"How do you do," he says to the skeleton who has, by far, the most impressive name he's ever heard.
Then to Lily: "A broken teacup, really? Scorpius told me it was a bit of a long story, his ... coming to life."
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The skeleton bows.
"It was actually a very impressive piece of magic."
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"Well, except for the hat."
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That is an impressive piece of magic.
Albus isn't even sure he could create an animation charm that'd last this long.
Albus decides to inspect the little skeleton a little closer, bending forward so that his grey-coloured eyes are more at level with the skeleton and Lily's desk.
"He always said maybe the Hat made a mistake putting him into Ravenclaw because ... he wasn't clever enough or some rubbish like that. But obviously this is a testament to how wrong he is," says Albus.
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Because this is getting silly.
"I don't think the Hat makes mistakes," Lily says.
Ben looks back at Albus.
Well, all right, Ben directs his eyesockets in Albus' general direction.
"How are things with him? D'you mind if I ask?"
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Then he straightens, his attention wholly diverted.
Sorry, Ben.
"Well, um. I had that conversation with him, like you told me to. It was definitely a better idea to talk to him instead of writing a reply letter," he replies, trying not to stammer his words.
So far, so good.
"I don't know the rest of it yet, but we're still friends, which I'm incredibly glad about."
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That they're still friends and that they talked.
(Letters are all good and well for Mr Darcy and Captain Wentworth, but the average teenaged boy is not, in Lily's experience, all that in touch with his inner Austen hero.)
"And I'm sure you'll figure things out. Just give yourself time to."
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"It's still ... a lot to think about. Possibly too much to think about right now," he admits.
He hasn't touched Scorpius' letter since the conversation.
(Not that he'd really need to for all the times Albus has read it in the first place.)
"But the important bit was talked about and the rest ... yeah. I'll figure it out later."
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"Just try to trust yourself, okay?
"I have to think that with that anything like that, you'll know. It's when you start trying to talk yourself into things and out of things that you get yourself in trouble."
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He shrugs.
"Besides, by the time I figure it all out, um. If I ever do, I mean. Then ... it'd probably be too late."
... wait. He hadn't meant to admit that last bit aloud.
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"It will help, with trusting yourself."
But beyond that?
Sorry, Albus.
This is one you have to figure out on your own.
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Trusting himself has never been a strength.
"You know, besides it giving me a chance to - um. Come here, see a Shakespeare play and spend time with you and meet my great-grandparents, I sort of liked being able to assume another person's identity today.
"Not that I don't like being related to you, or anything," he adds quickly. "It's just ... it was a nice change, you know? Acting like I was someone else for a bit."
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Albus shrugs.
"And he's a lot more sure of himself and what he wants to do and what he likes, and - um. He stutters a lot less."
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"So ... what would happen if one day a week you acted like him, every week?
"Because I think you might be more like him than you think you are."
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"Really?
"I mean, I ... I suppose I could try it."
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"I think I told you this once, but I spend a lot of time pretending I know how to be a prefect.
"And so far, everyone has believed me."
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